“Meet me,” Danny says.
He tells Jardine where and when.
Then he takes the heroin out from the ceiling and loads it into his car.
Marty’s back in his chair, watching the television.
Ian’s asleep on the sofa with a scorched blanket thrown over him, his arm clutched around a stuffed toy puppy.
“I’ll pack a few of your things,” Danny tells Marty. “We’re getting out of here.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Danny sighs. “Dad, they probably have a warrant for you, too. Even if they don’t, you think the Morettis are going to leave you alive?”
“I want to die.”
“Fuck, Dad.”
“I do,” Marty says, his voice shaking. “For years now, I’ve been a useless old man, no good to anybody, even myself. Peter Moretti wants to kill me? God bless him.”
Yeah, Danny thinks. That’s why you shot one of the guys Peter sent. “Dad, I don’t have the time to argue with—”
“Go!” Marty yells. “Who’s keeping you?! I’m not.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care,” Marty says.
“Do you care about your grandson?” Danny asks.
“What kind of a question . . .”
“Ian needs all the family he can get,” Danny says. “He needs you, Dad. I need you.”
Tears come out of Marty’s eyes, roll down cheeks as dry and brittle as old paper. “Make sure you pack my other flannel shirt.”
Danny lifts Ian off the sofa and the boy wakes up. He has her blue eyes and black hair, all matted from where he was asleep on the pillow. Looks scared now, and confused. “Where Mommy? Want Mommy.”
“Mommy’s in heaven.” Danny wraps the blanket back around him, carries him out to Jimmy’s car and gets him settled in the back seat.
“Wait here,” Danny says, “I won’t be long.”
He leaves to meet Jardine.
Danny stands on the beach in front of Pasco’s house and looks out at the ocean.
The wind-driven winter surf is vicious, big waves crashing on shore like bombs. It’s freezing and that summer day when this all started feels like another lifetime.
The sky is slate gray now, the sun getting ready to appear on the horizon.
Danny remembers lying on the warm sand next to Terri, watching the woman come out of the water.
Knowing that she’d be trouble.
He don’t see her in the water now, he sees Terri and knows, somehow, in the way that spouses feel each other, that she’s slipped this world for another one. Knows also that he made her a promise—to build a life for their son.
A new life.
He’s sure now that he’s done the right thing.
Danny sees Jardine walk up the beach, his hands jammed into his down jacket against the cold.
Or maybe he’s holding a gun.
“What are we doing here?” Jardine asks.
“Chris Palumbo isn’t going to bring you your dope.”
Jardine doesn’t blink. “And why is that?”
“Because I have it.”
“Is Palumbo alive?”
“He was the last time I saw him.”
Jardine switches loyalties just like that, like he’s shifting a car. “Then maybe you and I can make a deal.”
“Here’s what the deal is,” Danny says. “You keep the money you’ve already made. I walk away. Any indictments you have on me or my people, evidence gets lost, paperwork gets screwed up . . . you’re a smart guy, you know what to do.”
“Or I could just bust you.”
“No, if you were going to do that, you wouldn’t have come alone,” Danny says. “Because you know I can testify about you and Palumbo. I can testify how much heroin there was in the Glocca Morra.”
“No one will believe you.”
“You want to take that chance?” Danny asks.
Turns out Jardine doesn’t. “Where’s the dope?”
“I threw it in the ocean.”
“What?!”
“I threw it in the ocean,” Danny says.
“Why the hell did you do that?!”
“Because you would have taken it and then shot me,” Danny says. “Now you got no motive to do that.”
That was one reason, Danny thinks. The dope had brought them nothing but pain and sorrow. It was a mortal sin to begin with; he should never have taken it. It was cursed.
But the real reason is . . .
If you want to build a new life, a clean life, you can’t do it on top of sin.